


Like Falling Asleep

by piketrickfoot



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: M/M, Unrequited, it isn't actually but ronan thinks it is, poor baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 21:53:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5801623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piketrickfoot/pseuds/piketrickfoot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's no way someone like Gansey could love someone like Ronan. It's better that way anyway, he tells himself. There's no way. There's no way. </p><p>Don't think about how much it will hurt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Falling Asleep

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Like Falling Asleep](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7859326) by [vivian_damor_blok](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivian_damor_blok/pseuds/vivian_damor_blok)



> this wasn't supposed to have a happy ending but I am Weak™

It’s two in the morning. Ronan is, for once, not drinking, but he’s also not really sober. He hasn’t slept for longer than a few minutes at a time in at least two days and it’s starting to catch up to him.

  
You can’t sleep, he reminds himself. Sleep means dreams means hornets means one dead best friend/group leader/king/boy you’re in love with. You cannot sleep.

  
Ronan Lynch has never really been one for late night angsting, but sometimes he lets himself slip into a haze of lonely and sad and a profound sort of wanting which he can’t quite place but thinks might be the worst of all, because when you’re Ronan Lynch you can have almost anything you can dream, and he isn’t really used to wanting. But this is not the sort of wanting a dream can fix and he knows it.

  
He glanced at the wall separating his bedroom from Gansey’s and then immediately chide himself for it. A crush was one thing; it was harmless, it was benign, it was relatively safe. Pining, however, was something entirely different. Until he met Richard Gansey III, Ronan Lynch did not pine. And yet, here he was, alone in his room at two in the goddamn morning, wondering if (hoping that) Gansey was sleeping.

  
Someone chose that moment to tap gently at the door. He almost groaned. No such luck. Ronan dragged himself off his bed and lazily opened the door. Gansey stood on the other side, as Ronan had known he would, the dim lamp that lit his room casting soft shadows across his face. His hair was pushed back haphazardly as though he’d run his hand through it so many times it had given in and stayed that way, his glasses were set askance on his face, and the dark circles under his eyes told Ronan that his friend had gotten about as much sleep in the past few days as he had.

  
“Sorry,” Gansey said, shuffling nervously from one foot to the other, “can I come in?”

  
Ronan nodded, stepping aside wordlessly to let Gansey into his cluttered bedroom. He kicked a couple dream objects under his bed as he led Gansey across the room, motioning for him to sit on the duvet. He was silent for a few moments, during which Ronan ached a little for the way Gansey’s shoulders sagged under the weight of the world, and he wished to God that for one fucking second his friend could stop playing the role of Atlas.

  
Finally, finally, Gansey opened his mouth.

  
“I think I’m in love.” he blurted. It didn’t so much come as a punch to the gut as it did a sharp exhale of breath, a bite your tongue, Ronan, stop being selfish, this isn’t about you. He fought to keep his body from caving inwards, to plaster on a Congressman-Gansey smile, but judging by the worried look on Gansey’s face it came out closer to a grimace. He pressed his warring emotions deep down into his gut to dissect later and tried again.

  
“Oh?” he asked, not trusting himself to try for anything more.  
Gansey nodded; looked at him helplessly, helplessly and utterly, obviously in love. Ronan nodded slowly, thinking only a little bitterly of Blue, who Gansey was undoubtedly talking about.

  
A while back, Gansey had asked Ronan to teach him to punch. The first thing Ronan had told his friend, sitting in the parking lot near Gansey’s bright orange Camaro and laughing about whatever hypothetical baddie he’d be punching, was this: don’t think about how much it will hurt.

  
Ronan brought this into his mind now. Don’t think about how much it will hurt, he told himself, staring into Gansey’s hopeful, curious eyes and squashing down all his wanting, trying to pretend for at least a few seconds that he could ever be the sort of friend someone like Gansey deserved.

  
Don’t think about how much it will hurt, he thought.

  
He said, “So ask her out.” It left a bad taste in his mouth, like cheap alcohol or the cigarettes he and Gansey had once stolen from Helen, just to try, and then tossed when they’d realized just how fucking disgusting cigarettes were.

  
“I can’t just-- Wait--” Gansey said, sputtering and then falling silent, not as though he didn’t want to say anything else but as though he somehow couldn’t. Ronan almost physically rolled his eyes; Gansey was just too goddamn good of a person. The reminder of how much better Gansey was, how much better he deserved, made Ronan’s chest feel tight. Gansey didn’t need someone like him; Gansey needed someone like Blue, someone who wouldn’t get jealous over every fucking thing just because he couldn’t keep from falling in love with his best friend. Ronan sucked in a breath.

  
“Man, screw Adam if he has a problem. He doesn’t own you and he sure as hell doesn’t own Blue.” Ronan said.

  
You’re a goddamn hypocrite, Lynch, he told himself. You’re a hypocrite and when Gansey realizes what an awful friend you’ve been he’s going to leave and you’re going to be alone.

  
Gansey had fallen silent, a sort of bewilderment in his eyes which didn’t make sense in context and which he could not quite place. Ronan took the opportunity to really look at him; the way he pushed his glasses up his nose when he was thinking, the pensive longing in his eyes which seemed to be trained on him but which Ronan knew was not really for him, which did not really belong to him and never could. He sighed and turned away.

  
Gansey made a noise of understanding, then. “Oh,” he said, “oh, you don’t think-- Ronan. Ronan, look at me.”

  
Ronan looked at him.

  
“I’m not talking about Blue.” He said it like it should have been meaningful, but the meaning was lost to Ronan, who shook his head.

  
“So-- what, you’re in love with Adam? Noah?” Ronan was grasping for straws. He could deal with someone like Blue, someone like Adam. He could deal with someone he knew would treat Gansey the way he deserved. He wasn’t sure he could deal with a stranger swooping in and sweeping his best friend off his feet.

  
Gansey stared at him for a fraction of a second before breaking into a grin that seemed to be mocking him and placing a hand on Ronan’s shoulder. He flinched a little bit and looked bemusedly at the boy sitting next to him.

  
“Ronan, for the grades you get in Latin, you can be a real goddamn idiot. Come here.” Gansey told him, bringing his other hand up to cup Ronan’s face. Ronan’s hand moved almost involuntarily to cradle Gansey’s gently like it was something holy, something to be protected. Gansey leaned in and pressed his lips to Ronan’s almost reverently, as though he were not the untouchable one.

  
Ronan was not exactly sure how long “a moment” was, but for several of them he was shocked still. The whole of the world seemed to melt away except for Gansey. Ronan closed his eyes and brought his hands up to cup Gansey’s face.

  
When Gansey finally pulled away, Ronan stared at him in awe, like this was the best it was ever going to get; like sitting on his bed kissing Gansey at two in the morning in Monmouth Manufacturing could be his whole world. Maybe it always had been.

  
“Take a picture,” Gansey teased, “It’ll last longer.”

  
Ronan said, “I intend to make this last forever.”


End file.
